A simple job

[Ryker]

The minutes dragged as he waited for whomever these idiots had sent to off an old gay man to come in the back door. A thought that got a brief, mildly amused snort. Coming in the back door. Old gay man. The world was just full of funny little moments like that, if you were willing to pay attention.

And then there was a knock at the front door. Self important, confident, bold. Police. What kind of idiot did they think he was? Well, in their defense, they probably had no idea who he was...but still insulting. And of course, the old man had to up and drag himself out of bed right then to dutifully respond to the local constabulary. Despite the fact that his own government, or some idiot element of it, was almost certainly going to try and have him killed that very night.

He didn't bother looking at the old bastard, his gaze still settled in the direction of the back door; not in his direct line of sight where he sat. Was it really the police? Why the hell would it be...why wouldn't it? A hint of a thoughtful frown, and he glanced towards the front door, which he could see from where he sat. Or at least the entryway. Why would they jimmy the back door, only to come around to the front and just up and knock? They had no way of knowing he was aware of their crude attempts at the back lock; even if they'd set thermals to see him through the walls, he hadn't moved in response to the noise. His pulse hadn't changed, body hadn't warmed up. He'd just sat patiently.

So they wouldn't have changed their tactics, would they? It was a gamble, of course. Most would assume fifty fifty odds; either the back door, or the front. But why not both? Why use a door at all? In his old life, he'd have just rigged the old fuck's car. Or maybe come in and feed him a blade through the heart, if he felt like watching the target die. Of course, in his old life, he'd never have been sent after an old man who insulted the government with some stupid fucking play, either. Big boys and girls weren't so fucking thin-skinned to be offended over something so stupid.

Literal monsters in the sewers. Magic wielding walking bombs in the streets. And they take offense to a fucking play.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd bet it's a cop at the front door. They probably want to bring you in for questioning, probably laying charges of slander or defamation or entirely reasonable legal response like that. Might let you have a bit of a nap before they hit you with the paperwork though. Fuck you look old without your beauty sleep." He stood then, glancing at Boda with a predatory grin, before walking towards the back of the house.

It would be rather awkward to get locked into a gun battle and kill someone with a cop right there. Especially since he wasn't on a legally sound protection contract at the moment. But merc'ing gangbangers wasn't particularly entertaining, and with the fucking Atharim chasing their own shadows, he wasn't likely to get an interesting challenge for a while. A few weeks of legal rigamaroll would be worth the headache. As long as whoever the fuck they'd sent put up a fight.

And if it were one of those walking bombs, well...they were just as mortal as everyone else. Just had more tricks in their bag. Which tended to make them arrogant and cocky. Although it was a distasteful thought to be off'd by some fucking magic channeling shit-stain on a whim. Well, all the same. Just as mortal as anyone else.